I never saw so swete a creature;
Nothing she lacketh as I do suppose,
That is longing to fayre dame Nature;
Yet more over her countenaunce so pure,
So swete, so lovely, wold my hert inspyre,
Wyth fervent love to attayne his desyre.
But what for her maners passeth all,
She is both gentyll, good, and vertuous;
Alas! what fortune did me to her call
Without that she be to me piteous?